


clock tower

by kyouyaed



Series: the mirevage dynamic [14]
Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Implied Blackmail, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mental Health Issues, Poorly Handled Mental Health, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, implied/background relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyouyaed/pseuds/kyouyaed
Summary: "I wonder if the others know just how …Possessiveyou are of the simulacrum."//The flags are red, but Elliott is already in too deep to pull himself out safely.//
Series: the mirevage dynamic [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625980
Comments: 9
Kudos: 20





	clock tower

**Author's Note:**

> a study of Elliott Witt within this dynamic as it's progressed.
> 
> as always heed the DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. i do nothing to subvert the under and overtones of this dynamic, i tag heavily and hopefully accurately, i vent a lot through my writing, and PLEASE be safe consuming this work. just... please. take care of yourself.

It ticks again, in the back of his mind, when he notices Revenant interacting with Bloodhound. Just there, a little nudge, a tiny and miniscule sound that demands to be heard the longer Revenant converses with someone _else_. It ticks, a clock moving so much closer to midnight, and Elliott fears when it will hit the hour because he knows that he won’t be able to ignore the chiming. The ticking can be dismissed, but the chiming takes over everything.

  
Revenant comes back to him anyway. Revenant always come back. He doesn’t say anything, only looks him over with those eerie eyes that offer Elliott some small sense of calm and comfort, and the pair walk away from Bloodhound. As they walk away, the ticking gets quieter.

  
The ticking has been there for a long time. Elliott can remember the ticking from a much younger age, after he and his mother lost all of his other brothers. Back then, he never had a way to describe the feeling, or put a name to it. When he was younger, he didn’t know what to call the ticking, or how to tell when it was going to happen or how to tell when he would need to separate and let the chiming of the hour, the buildup of all the ticking, ring out. When he was younger, he’d just lose control and cry, shout, and scream. Anything to get over the abandonment he was sure was coming his way from his mother, and from the few friends he’d managed to make. (And lose. The clock’s chiming always scared people away, and made the ticking and the chiming worse in the end.)

  
"You are not very subtle," Caustic says to him one day. Elliott startles, nearly knocking over one of his many pieces of merchandise of himself in the process. He twists his neck to look at Caustic, brows raised.

  
A nervous laugh bubbles up before Elliott can think to stop it. "What are you talking about?"

  
Caustic makes a show of looking around Elliott's little section of the drop ship before setting his gaze back on the man in question. Elliott is quick to drop his gaze.

  
"I wonder," rumbles Caustic, "if the others know just how … _Possessive_ you are of the simulacrum."

  
Elliott cannot even think to hold back the flinch, and his back hits the wall and dislodges one of his figures from it. The ticking starts as he looks at Caustic with wide and worried eyes. It's soft enough as he struggles to truly process what the mad scientist is saying.

  
In his mind, the clocktower is shrouded in shadow, all of the numbers and markings nearly invisible except for the crisp twelve at the very top. It's always climbing towards midnight, and the ticking is dangerously close to the hour now.

  
Elliott feels sick, and he's pretty sure it isn't for the right reasons.

  
"I-I…" Elliott swallows, and briefly wonders if Caustic heard that or if he can hear how loud Elliott's pulse is. "I don't…"

  
"You don't know what I mean?" Caustic demurs. "Don't play dumb with me, boy," his voice drops to a hiss as he steps forward, crowding Elliott, leaving him with nowhere to go. No escape as the other looms over him. "You're not a fool, I know that much. Your holotech is nothing short of genius, and your social ineptitude, until recently, has been an act."

  
At that, Elliott bares his teeth. "What do _you_ know?" he hisses. "You sit in your ebony tower-"

  
"Ivory tower," Caustic interrupts. "And I rather think that's you, _Elliott_. At least… Sometimes." His voice does nothing but emphasize the predatory grin he's wearing beneath his gas mask.

  
His words make Elliott pause, brows furrowed and lips twisted together in thought. Caustic keeps him crowded, form hulking deliberately over Elliott. It keeps him contained. _But_ , he muses, _it keeps others from seeing or overhearing_ . And certainly this is not something either of them want overheard. He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry, and meets Caustic's eyes.  
  


The ticking gets louder.  
  


"What do you want?" He finally gives in, shoulders slumping into one of his figures.

  
Caustic's grin is shark toothed and cruel. "I won't tell anyone about your, ah, _fixation_ on the simulacrum-"

  
"How magna… magnon…" Elliott hisses as the pronunciation of the word escapes him. "How fucking kind of you," he settles on. To his credit, he doesn't flinch as Caustic snarls at his interruption.

  
"I simply wished to inform you that I am very aware of it. I see the way you interact with him. I see you, and I see him. You are not as subtle as you think you are."

  
The pause between them is pregnant and heavy.

  
He _sees_ them? Sees the both of them? He's watching them? More importantly, Elliott concludes, he's watching _Revenant_. The ticking is almost too loud at that thought. The clock in his mind's eye is so close to midnight that he's surprised that he isn't shaking. Caustic has been watching Revenant.

  
Caustic is a scientist, he tells himself. Observational, a man who waits to draw conclusions from what he _observes_. He isn't going to steal Revenant away. Revenant won't be stolen away just because of the observational scientist.

 _  
Or will he _ ? a traitorous voice whispers in his mind; dark and heavy with dangerous thoughts. _He might find Caustic far more agreeable. They both enjoy the kill far more than you, after all_.

  
There's no point resisting when the chiming in his head starts. Something must change on his face because Caustic takes an almost imperceptible step back from him. The breath Elliott takes in that centimetre of space given to him helps him stand at his full height and, though he doesn't tower over Caustic, he feels equal to the other man.

  
"You—"

  
The tirade he was sure to go off on is interrupted, this time by a familiar voice that serves to soothe the chiming and make it worse all at once.

  
" _What_ is going on here?"

  
Revenant looms over Caustic in a way that would have a lesser man cowering and bowing out. But the Legends are made of stronger stuff, and hardly cower at this. Caustic is no exception and Elliott allows himself to back down. The chiming doesn't stop, but he's able to focus on Revenant and it helps muffle it a little bit.

  
"Caustic," Revenant practically purrs. He settles one thin hand on Caustic's shoulders and says with amusement in his voice, "You should know better than to toy with someone's private things."

  
Those yellow eyes make a show of flickering to Elliott. Caustic follows his gaze and makes a sound that Elliott cannot place. Understanding? Confusion? Thoughtfulness? Elliott doesn't know the mad scientist well enough to say.

 _  
You don't know _ anyone _well enough anymore_ , the dark voice whispers unhelpfully in his head. The chiming of midnight is throbbing behind his eyes now and he grits his teeth.

  
Caustic looks back to Revenant. "I merely," he begins, slowly, deliberately, “had a hypothesis to test.” 

  
Revenant hums low in his circuits and leans down the few inches to meet Caustic’s eye level. Again in that sultry purr, he asks, “Oh _did_ you now? And what, dear doctor, was that hypothesis?”

  
There’s an air of confidence around Caustic that Elliott doesn’t fully understand as the two in front of him stare at one another.

  
And then Caustic says cooly and lowly, “My hypothesis of exactly who belongs to whom, Revenant.” Caustic shrugs off Revenant’s hand and adds, “You arrived surprisingly quickly to Witt’s side, after all.”

  
Elliott stills, as does Revenant. Caustic looks between them and slips out of Elliott’s small area of the dropship with heavy footfalls. The chiming in Elliott’s head resounds in time with Caustic’s steps as the other man gets further and further away from his nook. The chiming doesn’t stop even when Caustic is far from Elliott’s hearing range.  
  


The dropship shakes Elliott from his thoughts and dulls the chiming. Overhead, the automated voice calls out,   
  


“Now approaching World’s Edge. Ten minutes to drop.”  
  


Only a little hesitantly, Elliott steps forward. His movement seems to jar Revenant out of his thoughts and the simulacrum looks him over. He reaches out and his thin fingers cup Elliott’s face and tilt his head back. They make eye contact.  
  


It’s nearly miraculous when the chiming in Elliott’s mind fades and the hands on the clock roll back to settle at ten o’clock. He leans into Revenant’s touch.  
  


“Who belongs to whom indeed,” Revenant muses.  
  


He trails his fingers along Elliott’s face for a few seconds longer and then turns abruptly and steps out of Elliott’s section and stands there silently, just on the edge of Elliott’s section. Elliott blinks at the hulking form of the simulacrum, his face still tingling where the cool metal fingers had been pressed.  
  


Revenant glances over his shoulder and says, “We don’t have all day.”  
  


 _Oh_ . Elliott hurries to Revenant’s side. Revenant looks at him and he looks back. The simulacrum gives a quick nod and sets off, Elliott at his side.  
  


 _Who belongs to whom indeed_.

**Author's Note:**

> i will add: the only mental health shit i have intimate experience with is the stuff i'm diagnosed with. so i tend to reflavor those things to settle in my writing. i've also always been interested in writing characters who give into their mental health; but not as written by neurotypical people, as written by a person who experiences the mental illness being written about.
> 
> i think it's one thing for Neurotypical Steve to write about mental health and the bad sides of it, and another entirely for me to write about the bad sides of my own mental health. i'm mentally ill, and i know how bad my illnesses can get. exploring them, especially through fiction, helps me to not be that way. like i said, this is all therapist approved. :pensive:
> 
> i just feel the need to explain myself a bit more sometimes because i don't want people to get the wrong impressions or romanticize a lot of what we write in this dynamic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Schizophrenia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26241304) by [PrimrosePrime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimrosePrime/pseuds/PrimrosePrime)




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